surprised as well as
delighted to notice the business-like way in which the best players on
either side were settling down to their work. There was Farfield,
flushed and dogged, leading on his forwards, and always on the ball.
There was Scarfe, light and dodgy, ready for a run or a neat drop-kick
from half-back. There was Ranger and Phipps of the Fifth, backing one
another up like another Nisus and Euryalus. There was young Forrester,
merry and plucky, saving his goal more than once by a prompt touch-down.
There, even, was the elephantine Jeffreys, snorting and pounding in the
thick of the fray, feeling his feet under him, and doing his clumsy best
to fight the battle of his side.

The game went hard against the School, despite their determined rallies
and gallant sorties. Young Forrester in goal had more than one man's
share of work; and Scarfe's drops from the rear of the Sixth scrimmage
flew near and still nearer the enemy's goal.

Once, just before half-time, he had what seemed a safe chance, but at
the critical moment Jeffreys' ungainly bulk interposed, and received on
his chest the ball which would certainly have carried victory to his
side.

"Clumsy lout!" roared Farfield; "didn't I tell you to stand out of the
way and not go near the ball--you idiot! Go and play back, do."

Jeffreys turned on him darkly.

"You think I did it on purpose," said he. "I didn't."

"Go and play back!" repeated Farfield--"or go and hang yourself."

Jeffreys took a long breath, and departed with a scowl to the rear.

"Half-time!" cried Mr Freshfield. "Change sides."

It was a welcome summons. Both sides needed a little breathing space to
gird themselves for the final tussle.

The School was elated at having so far eluded actual defeat, and
cheerily rallied their opponents as they crossed over. Jeffreys, in
particular, as he made moodily to his new station, came in for their
jocular greetings.

"Thanks awfully, Cad, old man!" cried one; "we knew you'd give us a leg
up."

"My word! doesn't he look pleased with himself!" said another. "No
wonder!"

"Is that the way they taught you to play football at home?" said young
Forrester, emphasising his question with an acorn neatly pitched at the
Cad's ear.

Jeffreys turned savagely with lifted arm, but Forrester was far beyond
his enemy's reach, and his hand dropped heavily at his own side as he
continued his sullen march to the Sixth's goal.

"Are you ready?" shout